


we are the broken pieces of our real and happy selves

by madnessandscars



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Jeronica Secret Santa 2020, Minor Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28067490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnessandscars/pseuds/madnessandscars
Summary: He raises his gaze to look at her. “Since when do you care about me?”“Since always, Jones. Since always.”(Jughead and Veronica find each other in a mess of broken hearts.)
Relationships: Jughead Jones/Veronica Lodge
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	we are the broken pieces of our real and happy selves

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Secret Santa gift for. @whatacoolkid! Happy holidays! Hope we will get to know each other in the new year :).

Relationships start and end, Jughead has known it for years. He's always been aware of the fact that some day he and Betty would have broken up, because there's no relationship that is strong enough not to end. So, he's prepared himself mentally during those three years, perhaps in search of a way to soothe the pain post-break-up. 

But now, he's heartbroken. In his bed, heart shattered in a million pieces, tears on his cheeks and probably also on his cheap pillow. It had been their decision to split up, after a fight that has caused him to break the picture of them he had on his sidetable. He'd told Archie to look after her, that he would be fine.

He definitely isn't.

While his best friend and his former girlfriend walk hand-in-hand through the hallways of Riverdale High, he's sat in the Blue and Gold, occasionally updating his novel, deleting the parts that talked about her, because there's no reason to keep them, after she'd broke his heart. 

His days go like that. Wake up, go to school, write, go home. He doesn't eat but he's fine with and if it wasn't for the hole in his stomach that grows day after day, he could starve for another couple of days. His physical condition is bad. He's got bags under his eyes because of his dramatic lack of sleep and oily hair that he hasn't washed in weeks.

It's a Thursday evening and Jughead is in the office, laptop opened and lights down. He hears the sound of clicking heels — he could recognize that sound anywhere — from the outside as the door swings open. He looks up to find the raven haired girl, dressed in black as per usual, a bag from Pop's in her hand, holding it with her perfect painted fingernails. She turns the light on and he blinks one, twice, three times. “Veronica?”

She walks towards him and puts the bag down on his desk. “Jughead,” she grabs a chair and sits on it, scooping a little bit closer to him. “eat.”

“What?” he growls, confusion spreading over his already frowning face, eyebrows knitted together. 

“You haven't ate in _ages_ , Jones. Do you really think that I would allow you to do that? Oh, don't say anything. I bought your favorite and some onion rings. You either eat something or I'll shove it right down your throat.”

He relaxes a little and bends over to grab the hamburger in the bag. He flips it in his hands, inhaling the smell that he'd missed so much in the last days. He raises his gaze to look at her. “Since when do you care about me?”

“Since always, Jones. Since always.” she grabs a napkin from her pocket and tosses it to him. “It's just that you're so close mentally to understand that your friends are not Archie and—; you don't have only one friend. You have Toni, Cheryl. . . kind of, and me.”

He sighs, knowing that she's right. He's always ignored her attempts to build a stronger friendship with him, because then, all he had was enough to make him feel somewhat appreciated. He had never thought that the two people he loved the most would betray him, ever.

“And eat. What happened to the guy who stole all of my fries? Huh?” her tone is teasing and he smirks, actually shows some emotion besides apathy. She smiles back and he thinks that maybe, if he would have opened his eyes a little more, Veronica Lodge would have been his best friend by now. 

They talk until it's dark outside and he eats until the bag is empty. She asks him everything, from what is his favorite movie to what is he going to do with his book. It's impressive how she's avoiding _that_ question, he's actually fascinated by her capability to maintain the conversation as less awkward as possible, filling pauses of silence and talking about what makes him somewhat comfortable.

She checks her phone and tells him it's almost eight and they should be home by now. “You're going to take a shower once you're home.” her tone is determined, that kind of determined that makes him roll his eyes even though he secretly enjoys it.

They walk and chat and argue until they've arrived Sunnyside Trailer Park. He doesn't knock because he knows that his dad is at the Cooper's, so he just pushes the door open and tells Veronica to come in with a motion of his hand.

She hesitates, but eventually steps into the trailer and looks around. She isn't used to all this mess, he realizes as he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly muttering an embarrassed apology.

“Don't worry, it's fine. Now, go shower. I can stay if you need me.” she smiles and lays on the couch, watching him as he walks to the bathroom.

In the shower, the water is warm and it makes him think. He's always thinking when he's showering about anything that comes up in his mind, but today, the subject of hi thought is dark hair and pearl necklace. It's strange how Veronica Lodge, Riverdale's very own Queen Bee — as some of the Vixens call her —, has come to him, the outsider Serpent, to help him deal with everything. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, he's thankful for that. Yeah, he is.

* * *

Veronica sleeps over that night, and the night after, and the next one. She comes over every afternoon after school, he doesn't know why. She says it's to keep him company, to keep him from starving again and keep him as healthy as possible. He doesn't mind. They can actually interact without screaming at each other, he can almost say they are friends. (He does think they are, he just doesn't tell her.) 

They watch movies together, do their homework, order some food and talk until midnight. He wants to ask her why she's here, why she suddenly wants to help him. So he does. She's laying on the couch, a slice of pizza in her hand, her legs on his lap.

“Can I— Can I ask you something?” he's watching her, eyes burning on her skin, and she turns his face to him, giving him a smalk nod as she bites into the pizza. “Why. . . why are you here?”

Confusion spreads on her face. “What do you mean? Well, obviously because I want you to be fine, I guess.” she says as she looks at her dark painted nails, avoiding his gaze.

“No, I meant, we both know that you don't like it here. We both know you prefer the luxury of your house. Why do you stay here, when you clearly don't have to?” he pauses. “Not that I mind, of course.”

A sigh escapes from her throat as she sits up straight, still refusing to meet his eyes. She looks down at her bare feet. “I guess, we have to be honest with each other now. . . don't we?” another sigh, another pause. “My, my parents are getting a divorce. Again. And I have to decide where to stay: with my mom, which means alone, because she spends her days passed out on the couch,” she makes a face as she lets out a bitter laugh. “Or my dad. . .”

He doesn't say anything, he just listen to her, holding her hand as if to tell her that she's not alone and that everything is going to be fine. She stops and he catches the occasion to ask her, “So you basically live here, now?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “no, I'm— I live at La Bonne Nuit. Don't make that face, Jones, I just. . . prefer to have someone to talk to, you know? Stay with someone.”

Memories of him and Betty flash through his mind. It's the first time he thinks of her in days, but it isn't as hurtful as he thought it would be. Memories of their first time, when he'd told her she could stay and presses a hand on her tight.

“Stay.” he chokes out. Partly because he knows he'll feel bad if he wouldn't let her stay, but mostly because he needs her and, even though she won't admit it, she needs him too. They have to hold onto each other to survive, that's something he's always known.

Before, there was Betty. Bright Betty with a bouncy ponytail and shiny green eyes, who he thought would never, ever let go of him. Pathetic. Now, he finds comfort in deep brown eyes and raven hair, expensive clothes and pearl jewelry. Veronica Lodge, so purely human. That's also pathetic. But he'll take it, until it lasts, until this sort of friendship will break.

She pulls him into a hug, warm arms wrapping around his body. “Thank you, Torombolo.” her breath shudders as she presses her cheek against his neck. “Thank you.”

* * *

It's not that they're becoming closer and closer. It's not that he finds himself enjoying each one of their arguments, which are becoming more playful teasing than offensive fighting. It's not that he's getting over his ex-girlfriend so easily that he's almost scared of what he's doing. It's not that last night they cuddled each other to sleep.

No, it's not like that.

And even if it is, he would never tell anyone, neither would Veronica. At school, they are the same. Barely interacting, barely touching. But when they're in his trailer, she laughs with him and they talk and watch movies and eat. It's a good feeling, yeah, it is.

It's Monday and they're sitting side by side in the cafeteria, shoulders almost touching, while Archie and Betty are facing them grinning like children.

She's the first one to talk, after swallowing some of her orange juice. “What?” she asks with an easy laugh, though he can see the worry in her eyes. Worry for something that she's predicted happening, worry for him. “Guys, what are you grinning about?”

The two share a glance, then Archie answers. “Well, we've been thinking about asking you something. . .” he trails off, raising his eyebrows.

“What?” Jughead snaps, because Veronica's eyes are darkening and he's starting to get nervous and scared. He feels her hand drop in his tight, rubbing it gently the way she knows would calm him down. It does relax him and he sighs, “What?”

His words are softer and Betty's eyes shine again as she says, “Archie and I, wanted your blessing.” her smiles widens and he can feel his insides turn unpleasantly. “We're— we're going togheter to the Prom!”

His hand drops unconsciously on Veronica's, sliding his fingers in hers. “Oh, well, that's cool.”

Archie rubs the back of his neck and gives him a little smile. “Jug, here's the thing; uh. we're kinda dating. No, no kinda, we're together, me and Betty, we just— we just wanted to know if that's okay with you.”

He feels Veronica's grip on his hand tighten, knee pressing against his. She knows he's nervous, she knows how's feeling. She knows he's feeling hurt, betrayed. She knows everything but that his heart is not speeding because of the sudden revelation, but because of her body pressed against his.

His breath quickens as she puts another hand on his, squeezing it as if to forme a sandwich. His skin his burning against her, stomach turning once again, this time with a pleasant sensation.

“Of course we're okay with it. Right Jughead?”

He snaps out of his state of nothing and turns to face the girl beside him. She's giving him a smile, a sweet, gentle smile he loves, he's always loved. Brown eyes meet blue and it's like the world's stopped. How could he have been so oblivious to her beauty, he doesn't really know.

He squeezes her hand and nods with a hum, the thought of his former girlfriend and best friend together not bothering him anymore.

She sleeps in his bed that night, probably to give him some company, and wears his shirt. His heart stops at the sight of her in his grey flannel, she's never looked any more natural. He grins and pulls her closer to where he's laying under the sheets. He falls asleep listening to the sound of her breathing.

* * *

Prom arrives soon, sooner than he'd expected. The sun of a Spring afternoon is up high in the sky, which makes Veronica's mood brighten even more. Unlike her, he's not excited and she knows it, he's always hated proms and parties. If it wasn't for her shining grin he'd be laying in bed all day long, with tons of mugs of coffee all around him.

“I'm going to get ready!” she exclaims as she grabs her things and skips into the bathroom. “You too, Jughead, or else we will be late!” then she's gone, humming some song he heard her listening sometime.

He gets up with a groan and puts on the black suit she's bought him a week ago. It's plain black, dark, it matches with his hair — and hers, he can't help but tell himself. He doesn't wear his hat, he wants to be as natural as possible. He leans on the wall outside his room, waiting for her to be ready and he almost jumps when she yells that she's ready.

When she steps out of the bathroom, his heart skips a beat, or two. She's beautiful, in a simple sleeves black dress and high heels of the same color, hair falling on her shoulders and oh her collarbone, where her pearl necklace is. He wants to kiss her, he realizes. He wants to kiss her so badly, spin her around and tell her she's the most beautiful girl in the world.

He doesn't. “Wow,” he manages to say when she laughs awkwardly, probably because he was staring. “You, you look _gorgeous_ , V.” he gives her a hopeful smile, trying to hide the fact that he can't take his eyes off her face. “Wow.”

“You're not so bad yourself, Jones.” she winks at him and something in his stomach flutters, the wonderful felling only to be stopped a few seconds after, when she says, “Reggie should be here soon.”

* * *

Jughead doesn't like the prom. He spends half of the night drinking and watching her dance and giggle with Reggie Mantle. She seems happy, he wants her to be happy, even though the sight of the two of them makes him sick in the stomach. He spots Betty and Archie on the stage, him singing and her laughing.

He storms out of the school and he can feel a pair of eyes watching him. Probably brown, deep and dark eyes. He sits on a bench outside, feeling the cold breeze brush against his cheekbones. His hair is messy because of the wind and he wishes he'd brought his hat for the first time in weeks. The music is so loud he can hear it from the outside and he rolls his eyes as he searches for his pack of cigarettes, found on the counter of the Whyte Whyrm. He lights up one cigarette and pulls it to his shaking lips.

Gray smoke blows in the air as he breathes out, he can hear the too familiar sound of high heels coming in his direction. He feels — rather than see — her sitting beside him on the bench.

“Didn't know you smoked.” she says and her foot pushes into his. He doesn't push back.

“I only smoke when I'm stressed.” is his answer before he presses again the end of the cigarette too his lips once again, inhaling sharply. “And now I am.”

She's confused, he knows it well, because her eyebrows furrow and her chin tilts downwards, hands pressing against one another. He knows her by now, more then he knows himself. Another blow of smoke and she chokes on it. He doesn't react, just stares in the void.

“What's bothering you, Jug?” she asks him once she's finished coughing, he almost wants to laugh.

“Princess,” he uses the name he's always wanted to use since she's wore his hat that cold night. “You tried to make my prom — my last prom, to be exact — special, by any sort of sick thing that Northsiders love. You know what? I don't.” 

“Jug, what are you trying to say—”

He cuts her off with a cold and bitter laugh, he can see tears in the corner of her eyes. “You think you know me, Princess. You think, but you don't. You still think that I'm in love with Betty Cooper, the perfect girl-next-door. What if I don't want her? What if I'm perfectly okay with Archie and her being together? You didn't know that, did you?”

“I—”

“What, Veronica? You don't know what to say?” They're not sitting anymore, they are standing, closer and closer and he could just take a couple of steps to close the gap between them. He doesn't. He stares at her, his eyes burning in hers, cold.

“Jughead, what is going on with you?” she asks, her concerned tone almost making him soften. “If there's something I did, you can tell me.” tears in her eyes, then. “Trust me. Do you trust me, Jughead?”

“Yes,” he breathes out, voice low and cracking. “I trust you more than anyone else in this world.”

He kisses her. He kisses her with all the strength he has, it feels great. Lips on lips, soft and red. She tastes like the mint cheap toothpaste he's bought that morning. They break apart soon, — too soon, if he's being honest. Forehead against forehead, she lets out a shaky breath.

“But I guess you don't trust me enough.” he grabs her wrist, pulling it in between the two of them, fingertips slightly pressing against her pulse.

Her eyes bore into his and she sucks in a breath. “I do, Jughead, I do trust you.”

“Then why? Why can't you just stop being so oblivious to everything that's happening in my mind? Why can't we just talk about you, and not about me?”

She shivers and a silent tear falls from her eye. “Because, if we did, I will break. I don't want to break anymore.”

“But Princess, I've got you. You don't have to be afraid, because we all are. Broken. Inside or outside, more or less. But we all are and we can't be fixed. If you're scared you will break even more. Trust me, _Veronica_.”

“We're the broken pieces of our real and happy selves, aren't we?” she laughs, pulling her wrist out of his grasp and crosses her arms around her waist.

“Yes, we are. . .”

She cuts him off and finishes the sentence for him “. . . and we can't change.”

He pulls her closer again, lips brushing as he says, “We will never change, Princess. But we can love.”

They meet again in a quiet and soft kiss, noses cold against each other's face. His hands around her waist, hers on his cheeks.

“I can love.” she speaks up as they pull apart, even though the space in between them is as minimal as possible.

He pecks her lips to taste the cherry cola he's seen her drink before. He doesn't think there's anything he could get more addicted to, not even black coffee or cigarettes. “I know you can.” he whispers. “I know we can.”


End file.
